


the last good thing about this part of town

by Katarin



Series: Schoolteacher AU [1]
Category: Bandom, Bandom: Fall Out Boy
Genre: M/M, Schoolteacher AU, Underage Character, Underage Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-08-23
Updated: 2010-08-23
Packaged: 2017-10-11 05:16:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 15,318
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/108815
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Katarin/pseuds/Katarin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Fresh out of college, Pete Wentz is Patrick's new Government teacher. That would be fine except they're still Pete and Patrick.</p>
            </blockquote>





	the last good thing about this part of town

**Author's Note:**

> A Schoolteacher AU. Pete is Patrick's teacher and they get into a relationship anyway.

Patrick's first day of 12th grade Government is clearly also his teacher's first day of teaching anything ever. This should maybe inspire feelings of closeness and commiseration, like they're both going through this together, but Patrick didn't end up getting his last period free and instead has to TA for the band teacher, again.

Patrick's goodwill towards anyone has pretty much been maxed out, so when Mr. Wentz stands in front of the class in his too-tight slacks and button-up shirt and tells them to "call me Pete," he's completely unimpressed.

Mr. Wentz (Patrick isn't calling him Pete until he's completely certain he's not just trying to be "down with the kids" or something equally stupid) does attendance and hands out a syllabus, explaining what they'll be covering and how he'll be grading.

"The most important thing for me is to get you ready for being politically conscious in the real world. You'll all be voting soon, you're the ones who will be making the decisions for us. Be informed, be passionate, I want to hear what you think," Mr. Wentz says. Patrick ignores him, scribbling a few bars of music into his notebook; he can make it easier for his band later, _but_ for now he wants to get it down exactly as it is -- something melodic with a driving beat. From the awkward silence that follows Mr. Wentz asking if anyone has any questions, it appears that no one else is paying attention either.

***

Patrick has English with Joe during 3rd period. They sit near each other even though they're not really friends because Joe's a cool guy who's actually serious about music. Patrick would sell a kidney to get Joe in his band but his band sucks and no one like Joe would ever want to join. Patrick doesn't even want to be in the band and it's his band.

"He's _wonderful_," Stacy's sighing when he sits down. She's sitting on her desk so she's facing Joe, looking dreamy and wistful. "He's so passionate and driven and I just know we're going to learn so much from him." Patrick wants to laugh because she sounds like some kind of ridiculous high school cliché, but he knows Joe is looking to score with her so he keeps quiet.

"You know who that is, right?" Joe asks, head tilted to the side like he can't believe it might be true. When Stacy shakes her head he sighs deeply. "That's _Pete Wentz_, from RaceTraitor? Arma fucking Angelus?"

Stacy squeaks, "Oh my GOD, he's like, so talented!" And this time Patrick _does_ laugh because he'd seen Pete Wentz play bass in Arma and to this day he feels like he's doing him a fucking favor by even calling it that. At Stacy's outraged look he just shakes his head and goes back to doodling music in the margins of his English notes.

When he shuffles into Government just before the bell rings (he'd been exchanging CDs with Joe after English), there are no less than three girls with dyed hair and lip rings telling Mr. Wentz how much they all loved Arma and what a "completely awesome bass player" he was. Patrick laughs so hard he nearly trips and won't look at any of them while he goes to find his seat.

Mr. Wentz hands out copies of an article from the Trib and when Patrick's lands on his desk there is a bright purple post-it stuck to it. _PETE WENTZ IS A SUPERB BASSIST_ it says in the same handwriting tonight's homework is written on the board in. Mr. Wentz smiles at him, all even white teeth like butter wouldn't melt in his mouth.

Patrick takes notes on single-member district plurality versus proportional representation systems and calls him Pete when he's called on.

***

As someone who's gone to public school all of his life, Patrick thinks Pete's doing all right as far as class participation goes. For the most part people answer when they're called on and sometimes they even have the right answers. It's very rare for anyone to need to ask what page they're supposed to be on and he has yet to see anyone fall asleep.

This is somehow not good enough for Pete Wentz and so on their second week of class he throws the seating chart into the trash and tells everyone to seat themselves according to their political opinions. This backfires of course: everyone sits with their friends, turning Government into a mini version of the cafeteria with little pockets of cliques and miles of distance in the tiny space between them.

Patrick expects Pete to give up. He's obviously new at this, and his unreal expectations are hitting the brick wall of reality; it would make perfect sense for him to admit defeat, Patrick thinks. This is, of course, because he doesn't know Pete Wentz.

When Pete stands in front of the classroom the following Monday, dark smudges around his eyes like he hasn't slept all weekend and scantrons and test booklets lined up on every desk, Patrick knows he's not admitting anything.

"This is a test." he holds up the test booklet and grins at the class, baring his teeth like he might bite them. "There are no right or wrong answers. You will be graded on whether you answered the questions or not. I will be questioning you about your answers throughout the year, so don't just mark down anything."

It's a long fucking test and it takes pretty much the entire class period. Patrick answers honestly and turns it in and spends the rest of class trying to make a metaphor about smiles and knives work together with the music he wrote this weekend. It doesn't and he's left with even more shitty lyrics in the ever growing pile of shitty lyrics.

The next day there's a new seating chart and Pete's sitting in a chair in front of the class, feet propped up on one of the desks in the front row and a sheaf of papers in his lap.

"There are some topics that are guaranteed to strike a nerve, hot-button issues that everyone has an opinion on, and in an attempt to wake you all up, we're going to spend today talking about some of them. First up, abortion." Pete flips the top two pages and points at one of the names. "Brian, you answered that abortion was wrong, care to explain?"

Brian stutters through an explanation about his church and the sanctity of the lives of babies and Pete nods and calls on Jason, who answered that abortion should be perfectly legal and the two of them actually have a mini argument. Patrick's mildly impressed, sitting in the back on the left hand side of class and trying to tame the collection of words and notes he has into a fucking song.

"Now Patrick-" Pete's voice cuts him off mid-thought and he looks up, meets Pete's eyes and is a little blown away by how animated he is, triumph written all over his face. "You didn't answer this question, care to share why? That wasn't actually a question by the way, I'm telling you to tell us why." Another smile and Patrick swallows and sets down his pencil.

"I don't feel right making a value judgment about abortion," he says, not looking at any of his classmates. "As a man, it's none of my business and I shouldn't get a say, it's not something I'll ever have to decide on." He gets a few giggles when he calls himself a man but it's quiet afterwards and Pete's still smiling at him, meeting his eyes and Patrick wants to pull his hat down so Pete can't see him anymore because he can feel a blush spreading.

Karen stops the moment from extending into forever, raising her hand and agreeing with him, saying something about women's issues that Patrick can't hear over the rush of blood in his ears.

***

One of the stoner kids who sporadically comes to class recognizes him from a show they both went to and tries to talk to him about music but he's too fried to keep it up for long and Patrick goes back to writing songs in his notebook. The next day Pete casually mentions a band he'd seen last weekend while Patrick's walking by his desk and they spend most of passing period talking about the local scene.

It starts to be kind of a habit, Patrick leans against Pete's desk during passing period and waxes poetic or talks shit about whatever band he saw play this weekend and Pete enthusiastically nods along or dishes dirt on what he knows about them. Their musical tastes overlap a lot, Pete's inability to play bass notwithstanding, and most of the bands Patrick goes to see are bands Pete's seen more than once.

Sometimes he plays with the stuff on Pete's desk, the little toy cars and plastic animals, or reads the random post-its Pete makes for himself. The purple one he wrote to Patrick is stuck to his file cabinet, ink runny like maybe Pete spilled water on it but still there like it's something Pete wants to keep.

He doesn't think there's anything strange about it, not even when he's hauling ass out of English every single day so he can have more time talking to Pete-- until the day Joe holds him up. He wants notes from one of the days he missed and then he tries to talk to Patrick about this band he saw last weekend and normally Patrick would jump at the chance to talk to Joe about music, but a quick look at the clock tells him he only has 3 minutes left for passing period and he won't get to talk to Pete at all if he doesn't get rid of Joe soon.

He begs off and practically runs through the halls, calling out apologies to the people he bumps into until he's falling through the door to Government. There's a girl talking to Pete. It's Erica, one of the girls who thinks Pete is a musician with talent instead of a musician with enthusiasm. He sits at his desk and frowns, watching them talking, Erica being so transparent with her stupid crush.

She's talking to him about some Arma show she went to once upon a time and she's leaning up against his desk, completely in his space, laughing and gesturing. He wants to roll his eyes or say something bitchy about how obvious she is until she starts fiddling with the red car on his desk (Pete told him he got it out of a Happy Meal and it won't roll more than two inches forward and that's why he brought it for his desk, there was no chance of it rolling away).

He can't breathe for a second, watching Pete smile tolerantly and Patrick knows from the gesture he's making that Pete's telling her about the car too. He sits frozen in his chair, watching them talk, staring like a stalker and slowly coming to grips with the reason his stomach feels like ice and bile.

It's possible he has a crush on Pete Wentz.

***

Of course, now he blushes when Pete hands back his papers with big post-its exclaiming how awesome Patrick is for making the points he's making, little hearts in the margins and Pete grinning back when Patrick looks up at him.

His palms get sweaty when Pete leans over his shoulder to see what he's written, his breath on the back of Patrick's neck and the heat of his body all along one side of him. Sweaty palms mean he drops his pencil all the fucking time though and that just means Pete bending over in front of him, his ass, clearly outlined in those ridiculously tight Dickies that Patrick knows Pete buys in the girl's section, right there in front of his face.

Patrick is really glad they don't have to stand up much in Government, and he's getting used to being hard all the time. Now if only Pete would stop forgetting to wear undershirts, Patrick might make it through the year. Because the days Pete forgets, Patrick can see the outline of tattoos through the soft white cotton, and he's woken up sticky after way too many dreams where he's licking the circle of thorns around Pete's neck or the bartskull across his stomach to ever think about Pete's tattoos in a nonsexual way.

***

On Friday his guidance counselor pulls him out of English to discuss his lackluster transcript yet again and Patrick makes noncommittal noises about getting more involved in a club or some kind of community service and grimly takes the handouts she gives him. He's set to ignore it but then Pete spends all of 4th period talking about political participation.

"The United States is the single most politically apathetic developed nation in the world," he says, and it's really obvious how sad that makes him. He's actually frowning when he says it, showing powerpoint slides with graphs for political participation in every other nation. "Not only do we rank lowest in terms of voter turnout, we also rank lowest in terms of voter registration."

Pete's subdued for the entire rest of class, leading a quiet discussion and assigning fairly standard homework and all Patrick wants to do is hug him. He eats lunch with Joe and Stacy (who Joe is in fact now scoring with) and when he nearly runs into one of the poor local university students (spilling mac and cheese all over his shoes) he later thinks it might be fate.

While they're in the bathroom cleaning the congealed yellow cheese product off his Chucks Patrick finds out the guy is part of a youth organization that's in the middle of a big voter registration drive. Patrick only feels a little bad for thinking about how impressed Pete will be when he tells him about it on Monday, because he is _technically_ doing something good, even if it's for selfish reasons. He signs up, agrees to come to their first meeting tonight and spends the rest of the day imagining that surprisedhappy smile Pete gives him sometimes when Patrick says something unexpectedly deep.

He doesn't know a single person there. He recognizes some of the newspaper crowd and a few members of yearbook staff (which makes sense because they're all meeting up in the production room) but for the most part it's an odd assortment of people. Brent (of the mac and cheese covered shoes) claps his hands for everyone to quiet down and seconds later the door opens and in spills none other than Pete Wentz.

He's wearing tight girl jeans _eyeliner_ and a short-sleeve t-shirt and Patrick can see his tattoos, see the color and the lines and he has to clench his hands into fists in order to keep from walking over and running his fingers all over them. He wants to trace them with his tongue, with the pads of his fingers, and it isn't until Pete is standing right next to him that he's snapped out of his daydream. He looks up at the same moment Pete's arms wrap around him, pulling him in close and surrounding him in the scent of aftershave, laundry and _Pete_, the faint scent that Patrick smells sometimes when Pete's leaning in close while they talk.

He hugs back, arms going around Pete's waist, heat and shape of Pete's body pressed up against his for just a second before Pete's pulling away. "I didn't know you were going to be here!" he says, tucking a lock of unruly flat-ironed hair behind one ear. Patrick smiles like an idiot into the dazzling white of Pete's smile for just a second before he shakes it off and shrugs.

"I was thinking about what you were saying," and this is something he practiced, planning exactly what he was going to say to Pete come Monday morning, but it doesn't sound bad, "and it made me feel kind of bad, because we have so much and we can't even take the time for voting? But I'm not old enough to vote so I figured this was the best choice."

He didn't mean to bring up not being old enough to vote, that was a mistake, and he wants to rewind the last second and a half and take it back but Pete's just grinning and putting an arm around him. "Wow, that totally just makes my day, Patrick, completely." And they're both pressed so close for a second, Pete's excitement practically contagious until Patrick can't help grinning as well.

Patrick ends up in Pete's group and they walk around downtown, trying to convince the apathetic masses to register to vote. Patrick gives up on idealism early on and instead focuses on guilting grown men and women into caring about something half as much as a teenager. Pete hugs him every time he comes back with a voter registration form filled out, punching the air and jumping on him and squeezing him too tight.

Patrick wants to die over how ecstatic he is to see Pete so happy. He jerks off that night thinking about Pete's smile and Pete's smell and the way his body felt against Patrick's. He lays in the dark afterwards, sticky and sweaty and so full of want and begins to think that this might be more than a crush.

***

Pete talks about the voter registration drive the following Monday, encouraging students to come and join him and Patrick, and he even asks Patrick to say a few words about it. Patrick manages to not make a complete ass of himself in front of the whole class but he catches Pete's frown. Pete holds him after class and Patrick ignores every single porn scenario that plays in his head at the mention of being held after class by the teacher because he's standing up and wood at this point would be really hard… difficult to overlook.

"You don't like being the center of attention," Pete says and it's obvious but Patrick nods anyway, leaning against Pete's desk and clutching his backpack strap with both hands. "Some students approached me about starting a Government club, they were at the registration drive and wanted to try and do more of that kind of thing, get involved in local and state government. I'm going to be their advisor and I think you should consider joining. You seemed to have a lot of fun and I'd be lying if I said a familiar face wouldn't help."

"Yeah, that sounds great, we should definitely do that, it'll be fun." He's grinning and nodding like an asshole and he knows he has to stop but he can't seem to make it happen. If Pete notices he's nice enough not to mention it, clapping him on the back and telling him he'll let him know when the first meeting is.

Government Club mostly means piling into an unheated school van with four other guys, one girl and the district paid van driver and huddling together for warmth while they travel further and further out from Chicago to do voter registration drives or collect signatures for petitions. It's freezing-ass cold in the van and more often than not they're all pressed as close together as possible while still in their seatbelts.

They're on their way home from collecting signatures in Rockford when Patrick tells Pete he's in a band. The others are all either sleeping or trying to, but he and Pete are curled together inside of a blanket, Pete half in his lap, bony ass in his thigh; his entire face lights up at Patrick's words. "We suck," he explains immediately, "We suck a lot and I'm kind of embarrassed to be in a band that sucks as badly as mine does but it's practice. I can't wait for college, to find people who are as serious about music as I am, no more of this high school bullshit and people who never bother to practice."

"That's what you want to do?" Pete asks and his face is so serious, watching Patrick intently.

"Music is my life," he answers and it's more whisper than words but Pete hears, he knows he does because suddenly Pete's holding his hand, grip fierce and his eyes fiercer.

"Don't give up on it then. Promise me," and his grip tightens, pulling Patrick closer to him. "Promise me, Patrick, promise you won't give up on this." Patrick remembers how Pete looked onstage, playing shitty bass and screaming through songs and eating up every second of the crowd's attention, all sweat and eyeliner and cocksure attitude, and nods.

"I promise," Patrick says, and just like that Pete relaxes. It isn't long before he's asleep too. Patrick wonders how badly Pete wanted to make music, wonders if he sees the world like a song, snatches of rhythm and rhyme, syncopation and discordance. Did the music stop or does Pete just do his best to ignore it?

***

It's Monday morning and they're talking about the Supreme Court, Marbury versus Madison and Patrick has at least two make-up assignments to do if he wants to pass Spanish but instead he's writing shitty lyrics in his notebook. He has no delusions that they're anything but shitty; they're about

Pete's smile and how much Patrick loves his stupid laugh and how easy Pete is to talk to, and he's morbidly titled the song _What's the Worst That Could Happen? (Besides you Going to Prison and All of my Friends and Family Thinking I Was Molested?)_. He'll never make that fit into a chorus but that's hardly the worst part about the stupid song.

He should be looking out, but he's kind of busy being maudlin about his impossible wannabe love affair (which isn't a bad line, he needs to remember that for some later, less transparently awful song he writes) and doesn't notice Pete coming up behind him until there's heat along his back. He manages to pull out one of his Spanish assignments and jot some truly awful conjugation into the blank spaces by the time Pete leans in, but it's not actually better.

"Patrick?" Pete asks, eyes gone soft and sad and Patrick wants to go jump into traffic because of how awful he feels. He bites his lip and avoids Pete's gaze and Pete shakes his head. "Come back after school, you have detention."

He makes the mistake of wondering what detention is going to mean while he's at lunch and suddenly he's so blindingly hard he can't think. He has obscenely graphic flashes of what Pete could do to him, everything from pushing him up against the Constitution bulletin board and kissing him to bending him over a desk and spanking him with one of his wooden pointers. He blames porn for the last one and resolves to stop watching it if only God will show him mercy and make the hard-on he's had for two periods now go away.

When he shows up in the afternoon though, Pete just wants Patrick to grade papers for him and Patrick tries his best not to look terribly disappointed. Pete notices it, though, and Patrick hasn't finished his first paper before Pete's sitting next to him, putting a comforting hand on his shoulder and leaning in close.

"Patrick, I know how much Government Club means to you," (and Patrick has to stop himself from laughing at that because technically it is true, just for different reasons,) "no one would ever question your dedication if you wanted to take one of the trips off. No one else has been to every single event, and we understand if you have homework. I know that between school and your band you've got a lot going on; I don't want to be adding to that."

Patrick shakes his head, "No, I, I really like all of the trips and things, it's a nice change and I'm writing more music since I joined than I have in the last year." Most of which are horribly sappy love songs about Pete that he would never show anyone in his band, let alone make into actual songs to be heard in public. "I'm just not applying myself. I'll get the work done, I was just kind of scattered. I love your class, Pete, I didn't mean to not be paying attention."

Pete nods and bumps his shoulder before leaving him be to finish with the papers.

***

"It's a Youth Conference!" Patrick tells his mother for the fourth time. "The organizers heard about all of the work our Government Club has been doing locally and they invited us-"

"To Des Moines!" she interrupts, like this should be the ultimate dealbreaker. Her chin is set in the same stubborn line he's seen in the mirror one too many times and he knows he's way too close to losing this.

"I worked really hard for this," he says evenly, looking at the ground. "I'm doing well in school," which isn't a total lie - Pete makes him do homework in the van, won't speak to Patrick until Patrick shows him every completed assignment, and as a result he's doing better than passing in all of his classes, "I'm giving back to the community, taking part in something bigger than myself. This is going to look really good on my transcript and all of my friends from Government Club are going to go. If you really don't want me to go I can't do anything about it, but I think I've more than earned it."

He goes back to his room then, changes into his school clothes and he's in the middle of brushing his teeth when his mother walks into the bathroom and sets the signed permission slip on the counter. "Don't make me regret this. No wild drinking or trashing your hotel room, ok?" He hugs her, squeezing her tight, and she just laughs and swats the back of his head, complaining about him dropping toothpaste on her.

He packs an overnight bag with three day's worth of clothes and waits on his front step for the van to come by to pick him up. Pete's waiting in the backseat, holding out a steaming cup of coffee for him. The others are clearly just as unready to be awake at this hour as he is, curled around their coffees and huddling in their jackets and gloves.

Patrick sits next to Pete the entire time, sleeps with his head on Pete's shoulder, and they share Pete's portable CD player, one earbud each. Halfway through Davenport, two people holding hands on a street corner catch Patrick's interest and he needs to write it down. He's humming the notes, writing them out in his notebook and when he takes a break Pete's staring at him. He flushes, heat breaking out across his face and down his neck and he takes one earbud out and pulls away.

"I'll keep it down," he apologizes and Pete shakes his head.

"I didn't know you were the singer of your band," he says, and Patrick just stares at him. "You're good, Patrick, really good."

"I'm the drummer," Patrick tells him, feeling guilty because Pete's face falls when he says it. "I'm not, I can't sing." Pete shakes his head, like he can't believe what Patrick's saying.

"Patrick, I just heard you and you're amazing."

"I'm not, it's just a song I'm writing, it's not even finished and I really can't sing-"

"Why do you do that?" and Pete's still whispering, keeping it down because the others are still there, some of them are even awake and Patrick doesn't want them to hear this. "Patrick, you're amazing. I've seen some of the music you write in that book of yours and now I'm hearing you sing and you're so fucking _talented_."

He wants to blush when Pete tells him he's seen the music he writes; wants to defend himself and tell Pete that there are plenty of people he knows with Nightmare Before Christmas tattoos and that "bang you like a screen door" is new slang for friendship and Pete's just out of the loop not to know that. But Pete takes his hand, holding it tight like the night he made Patrick promise he'd never give up on his dream.

"Don't sell yourself short, Patrick. You're so fucking talented - I can't believe you're real sometimes, you're so good. You're going to be _huge_, okay?" Pete's serious again, serious like when he's talking about voter registration or the war in Iraq, only this is just Patrick, nowhere near as big a deal. He nods and rests his chin on Pete's shoulder, wrapping one arm around him. Pete hugs him back, arms wrapped tightly around Patrick's body, and Patrick can feel Pete's mouth pressed against his head.

The conference is full of people his age who are so enthusiastic about changing the world that Patrick feels guilty for the first time since Government Club started. He's talking to some girl from some high school in Madison and she's going on and on about what it took to get here and how she just knows the people here will change the world, and all he can think is that he did this for a guy. He's some awful high school cliché, going out of his way to do whatever it took to land a guy. He's Sandy in _Grease_, complete with lousy virginity and unreal expectations from life.

He sticks near Pete for the rest of the day, which was his plan anyway but now it's self-defense as much as opportunism. Pete's happy for the company, picking up pamphlets and taking notes at the lectures they attend, and Patrick pretends to take notes too, scribbling snatches of lyrics about being surrounded by so many people and only being able to see you.

Pete takes him to dinner at the only Chinese place near the convention center that does vegetarian. They look for the others but can't seem to find them, and Patrick's so happy to be alone with Pete that his face hurts from grinning.

Pete eats off Patrick's plate, stabbing pieces of broccoli with his chopsticks and popping them into his mouth. He makes a mess and Patrick realizes that Pete has some awful table manners but there's something so intimate about watching Pete eat from across the table that he doesn't even care. In the low light of the restaurant, the candle on their table flickering light across Pete's face and Pete leaning in to talk about the students from Council Bluffs who're all going to be interning at the state capital over the summer, they're so close and Pete's face is so open that it's like they're on a date.

He has to physically stop himself from leaning in to kiss Pete when he laughs, grabs his chair with two hands so he doesn't cup Pete's face and press a kiss to the wide, smiling mouth. Halfway through dinner Pete leans forward with his napkin in hand and wipes something from the corner of Patrick's mouth. Patrick stops midsentence and stares and Pete ducks his head, dropping his napkin on the table.

"You had something," he says and shrugs, looking between Patrick and the table.

It feels like forever before Patrick manages to speak, but when he does his voice doesn't shake at all. "Well thanks, Mom, but next time why don't you just say something?" Pete sticks his tongue out at him and just that easily the awkwardness is gone.

They're sharing Pete's CD player again, music set on low and the player lying between them on the bed. They're facing each other, trying to get to sleep because they have to be up early to go home tomorrow, but hotel beds are never comfortable and Mario and Justin are snoring something awful in the other bed.

"Why did you give up on music?" Patrick asks and then winces at how sharp Pete's eyes suddenly are, liquid brown gone so cold. It's a stupid question to ask when they're alone like this, 2 AM and no way to avoid each other until they forget about it.

But Pete doesn't avoid it, he just smiles sadly and rubs his arms. "You're the one who laughed when someone said I was talented."

"I'm told Pete Wentz is a superb bassist," Patrick answers back with a smile because Pete had something, he has to know that.

Pete sighs and when he speaks again his voice sounds broken, like he can barely bring himself to tell Patrick any of this. "It wasn't going to happen. I'm not talented and I'm never going to be and it was kind of time to move on."

"Everyone watches you," and Patrick has to replay it in his head twice before he recognizes that he was the one who said it. "When you were onstage and even now when you're lecturing, no one can keep their eyes off you." He lays his hand on top of Pete's on the bed between them, not quite willing to hold his hand, not sure he could handle it if Pete shrugged him off. "You still could have made it, Pete, there's something special about you and everyone can see it but you."

"That's why _you_ can't give up - you don't want to be 23 and telling sad tales of never-was woe to your music students." It's harsh, overly harsh and Patrick wants to make Pete take it back but Pete rolls forward just enough to press his lips to Patrick's forehead and all Patrick can do is try not to shudder.

"Go to sleep, Trick, big day tomorrow."

***

Patrick knows Pete doesn't have magical powers but that doesn't stop him from teasing him about it. "Big day, huh?" he asks, poking Pete's side. He stops when he sees Pete's face, gone completely bloodless, his eyes huge. Patrick waits with Pete in the freezing cold while Pete calls for a tow truck, neither of them able to take their eyes off the shards of glass and twisted metal that was their van.

When they finally go into the Pancake House where the rest of the group is, Pete practically frogmarches Patrick to the bathroom to wash the cut on his face.

"Too close, Patrick, that was too fucking close," and Patrick wants to tell him he's okay, that it's only bleeding like that because it's on his head and head wounds bleed a lot, but Pete is pressing wet paper towels to his head and muttering about Patrick not being able to leave him like that.

He'd been asleep at when it happened, curled up against Pete with his head on Pete's shoulder when suddenly there had been squealing tires and the van jerking wildly off to the side. When the van wrapped around the tree one of the branches burst through the window, showering Patrick with shards of glass, and it looks like one of them cut him.

"What if you'd been asleep against that window? What if you'd been leaning against it when we… Patrick, you could be _dead_ right now!" Patrick's pretty sure Pete is supposed to be making him feel better, calming him down, but Pete isn't a calm person in the best of situations and Patrick's willing to cut him some slack.

"Like I'd be sleeping against a cold window when I have a perfectly good pillow in the form of you," he says and Pete just looks at him for a second with wide, scared eyes for a few moments before wrapping him in a hug. It's too tight to be comfortable, Pete's arms crushing Patrick's body to his and Pete's mouth against his ear.

"Just be careful, please be careful, Patrick, Patrick, Patrick." And Patrick hugs Pete back, promises he'll be careful, promises he'll wrap himself in bubble wrap if that's what it takes, and slowly Pete calms down.

"Don't tell your parents you had to talk your teacher out of a nervous breakdown, okay?" Pete asks once they're both calm and sitting next to each other, shoveling pancakes into their mouths as fast as they can.

"I don't know how to break it to you, Pete, but I try not to mention that I even know you," Patrick answers after swallowing his pancakes. "It's the only way I'll ever be prom king." Pete steals his pancakes and Mario yells when someone spills syrup onto his eggs and the only thing that stops it from turning into an all-out food fight is some local police officer coming in to take a report from Pete.

***

Patrick's band has a show. He doesn't really want to play a show, would prefer to just practice with them and wait for people who are actually serious about being in a band, but the truth is he'll never be able to join a band if no one knows how good he is. So he agrees to do the show and doesn't tell anyone about it.

His band sucks live in front of a packed house. Patrick doesn't feel that bad considering they were maybe the second band up, but it's fairly obvious to him that he needs to quit the band because he hates apologizing for himself. He's hanging out at the bar afterwards, Joe helpfully trying to come up with bands he's seen that were worse than Patrick's because Joe is helpful and Joe goes to all of the local shows so of course he'd be at this one.

Patrick would like to say he doesn't notice Pete until Pete accidentally knocks into him at the bar. This would be a dirty lie though, because Patrick saw Pete halfway through their set. He missed his floor tom, he was so surprised to see him. Pete's in his girl jeans and eyeliner, tight shirt soaked with sweat, and this would all add up to being the only saving grace of the evening if it weren't for the boy Pete's with.

Patrick doesn't recognize him but he's pretty like Pete and he wears glasses and eyeliner and Pete's got his arm around his waist. Patrick hates him a lot. He gets one of Joe's friends to buy him drinks and vows not to write a crappy song about this, even if he does know exactly how he'd want the bridge to go. Pete runs into him after Patrick's lost count of how many he's had beyond the vague "well past what I can reasonably handle".

Pete's frowning when Patrick tries to talk to him and after a short talk with Joe, where Joe gets defensive about not holding a gun to Patrick's head and forcing him to drink and Pete calls Joe a bad friend. Patrick wants to object that he and Joe aren't even friends but it's possible that somehow over the past few months they've become the type of high school friends who hang out and talk and convince their older friends to buy alcohol for each other but not the sort that are in bands together or that talk about inappropriate crushes on hot teachers.

Pete stops glaring at Joe when Patrick stumbles against the bar and Patrick tries to say something about Pete not failing Joe, but Pete's arms are around his waist, holding him up against him. "I'll drive you home, Patrick, c'mon."

Pete's car is nice and relatively clean and best of all, the pretty boy Pete was with earlier is nowhere in sight. Patrick lays his head down against Pete's shoulder and he can feel Pete let out a sigh that sounds like relief. "You want some coffee?" he asks and at Patrick's nod pulls into a Dunkin' Donuts. Pete doesn't even try to get Patrick out of the car; he's gone for five minutes and then comes back with two cups of coffee and a bag of doughnut holes.

They sit like that, Patrick leaning against Pete and Pete's arm around his shoulder, both of them sipping their coffee, quiet in the dark, the fluorescent lights of the doughnut shop reflecting off the dashboard.

"What were you going to do if I wasn't there, Patrick? Anything could have happened to you and you promised you'd be careful. Why were you drinking? I should really tell your parents." Pete says the last with a sigh, like he might seriously be considering it.

Patrick drank his coffee too fast, it's making his stomach hurt; the bag of doughnut holes, white paper gone translucent from the grease, looks wholly unappetizing. This is his excuse for laughing, even though it's not good enough by half. All of that in addition to the fact that he and Pete are _cuddling_ outside of a Dunkin' Donuts on a Friday night are why he laughs when Pete says he's going to tell his parents.

Pete pulls away from him and Patrick looks up at him, catches his gaze and won't let go. "Patrick-"

"You're not going to tell my parents. You wouldn't do that to me, we both know it." It's such a pussy move, a cop-out, because this is the scene where our reluctant teen hero makes a grab for the girl of his dreams and she falls into his arms willingly, but Patrick's keeping it to them being friends. Because Pete isn't a girl, because Pete isn't a teenager, because Pete is in fact his _teacher_ and Patrick's a selfish bastard for even wanting to press this between them.

Pete's eyes are soft, though, watching Patrick like he always does, like Patrick's someone special, someone important. Patrick's the first guy to admit he can be an asshole sometimes so he goes for it, leaning in like he's going to cuddle against Pete again, only tilting his face up this time, catching the side of Pete's mouth, tasting the hitch in Pete's breath when their lips meet.

"Patrick-"

"_Pete_, stop pretending." And this time he's better, smoother, mouth to mouth and Pete opens for him, moaning when their tongues tangle and Patrick clutches at Pete's shoulders.

It's kind of fuzzy after that. Pete's mouth tastes like coffee and Patrick holds tight to him, pulling Pete down on top of him. And it's good like this, Pete's weight holding him down, his fingers in Pete's hair and Pete shaking on top of him. Pete's thigh is between his legs, rubbing against his cock and Patrick's so hard, harder than he's ever been. He bites Pete's lip and slips his hand between them, running his palm over the front of Pete's jeans, so full of want and he has no idea what to ask for.

Pete bucks his hips against Patrick's hand, thigh working over Patrick's dick, and Patrick knows he's not going to last, knows he's going to embarrass himself by coming in his pants any second now, but he'll be damned if he's not going to take Pete with him. He doesn't trust himself with zippers right now so he cups his palm around Pete's cock, touches him through the soft denim of his jeans. He shudders when he feels the fabric get damp beneath his hand, a small wet spot of precome he wants to taste and then he hears Pete, hears him whispering.

"Wanted this, wanted this, Patrick, Patrick, Patrick," and it's the hottest fucking thing _ever_ and just that quickly Patrick's coming, hips jerking against Pete's thigh and ruining his pants. He knows Pete can tell - his mouth falls open and his entire body goes still and then there is hot, wet fabric against Patrick's palm.

Patrick knows his eyes are probably comically wide but Pete fucking Wentz just came in his _pants_ over him. Pete's just breathing against his neck, though, and if he was shuddering before he fucking _shaking_ now.

"Pete, I-"

"Don't," Pete says and sits up, pushing off of Patrick and it's like he's breaking a spell. It's fucking cold in the car and the mess in Patrick's jeans is rapidly cooling and this was the worst idea he's ever had. Pete's still shaking, hands unsteady and white-knuckled as he clutches the steering wheel. "This… this was a mistake, okay? I don't… if you want to call the cops or something, I'll completely understand but, but I do know I shouldn't have done that, okay?"

There's ugly fluorescent lighting reflecting off the tears in Pete's eyes; his voice sounds broken, shredded, and he hasn't stopped shaking, not even when he leans forward against the steering wheel and closes his eyes. Patrick wants to touch him, reach out and tell him it will be okay, but that isn't true anymore and it's Patrick's fucking fault that it isn't.

"Pete, we can-"

"I'm going to drive you home and I want you to drink plenty of water. I didn't mean for this to happen and I'm sorry, please don't hate me."

Pete drives him home and he can't think of anything to say. There's no good way to say "I'm sorry for pushing you into something that could result in you losing your job and/or sharing a jail cell with someone called Big Henry." Patrick thinks Hallmark should maybe get on that.

He's wracking his brain for something, anything to say but he's still sluggish from the alcohol and before he knows it they're in front of his house. It's dark, well past 1 AM and of course his mom isn't still awake and he breathes a sigh of relief at that.

"Do you need help getting up to the house?" Pete asks and Patrick can only shake his head. He has to say something, anything; he knows Pete, knows that he won't stop beating himself up over this all weekend and that by Monday morning he'll be completely raw from it, his own worst punching bag. Pete reaches across him to pull the door handle open and Patrick reaches out for his hand without thinking about it.

He threads their hands together, squeezing tight like Pete did that first time in the van and pulls their joined hands to his chest. "No matter what, this wasn't a mistake." He didn't know he could sound this certain and this shattered at the same time. "Maybe it's bad timing, really bad timing, but it wasn't a bad idea, _we're_ not a bad idea."

Pete pulls his hand away and ruffles Patrick's hair, a sad smile on his face. "I meant what I said, about drinking some water and plenty of it." He nods for the door and turns away. "Go on, Patrick, go home and go to sleep."

Pete drives away as soon as Patrick's on the front porch, hunching in on himself while he digs his house keys out of his pocket. He watches Pete's car and tries not to think about the way Pete's face curved into the same sad lines Pete gets when he talks about his music. He doesn't want to be another thing Pete regrets.

***

On Monday Pete's busy setting something up before class and they don't get a chance to talk. It's the same story on Tuesday and pretty much every single day of the week after that. Patrick's on edge and when he shows up for Government Club on Thursday night and Pete's the one driving the van, separated from the rest of them by a bucket seat and miles and miles of mental distance, he's ready to kick Pete's ass.

They had a test this week, which means Pete will be staying late to grade papers, and maybe school isn't the best place to have this conversation but Patrick's never prided himself on being smart, so he goes anyway.

Pete looks startled when Patrick comes into the room. He rearranges some papers, turns to him with his Teacher Smile and asks, "Something I can help you with, Patrick?"

"I wanted to talk to you and seeing as you're determined to never look at me again, I figured this might be my only chance." Ordinarily, Patrick would have one hip up against Pete's desk, leaning into his space and leaving stealth post-its for Pete to smile over later. Ordinarily though, he wouldn't be talking to Pete about them having sex in Pete's car this weekend, so he's mostly flying blind.

Pete sets down his purple inkpen and turns to him. Patrick's never seen him look so closed-off before. "Look, Patrick, I appreciate you not reporting me to the police, but we need to step away from each other, okay? This isn't right and you know that and we have to stop."

"Why? I mean, I understand that we can't go on dates or be together like that, not while you're still my teacher, but Pete, you're my best friend. I can talk to you about anything. I don't want to lose that." He sounds petulant, like the child he isn't, and he can't blame Pete for rolling his eyes at him.

"I know that, trust me, I know all of that, okay? But this is… this is completely inappropriate and it's not just about Saturday, it's _everything_. This has been out of hand for a long time and I'm taking back control before I end up in fucking prison, Patrick."

"But you won't! I looked it up and the age of consent in Illinois is 17, regardless of our genders and-"

"Oh, well then I take it all back. I'm so relieved to know you can work a Yahoo! search. Whatever was I thinking, let's fuck!" Pete interrupts with a bitchy, condescending look in his eyes and Patrick has to admit that he's never been less attracted to him than he is right now.

"You are such an _asshole_! Why am I even bothering?" He steps closer to Pete, emphasizing his point by poking him in the chest. "You're an immature dickhead."

"And you're just some dumb kid with a ridiculous crush," Pete fires right back, and Patrick shoves him into his desk.

"And you're just a quitter who's too afraid of failure to ever go for what he wants." It's too much and Patrick wants to take it back as soon as he says it, because Pete's clearly really fucking pissed off to hear it - he pushes against Patrick's chest and Patrick would be falling on his ass right now if it weren't for the fact that he's grabbing Pete's arms and leaning in to kiss him.

The crazy thing is that Pete lets him. Pete not only lets Patrick kiss him, he tangles his fingers in Patrick's hair and pulls him closer. It kind of hurts, because Pete's not bothering to be nice about it, tugging on his hair and squeezing his hip hard enough to bruise. And Patrick's fucking determined not to have a repeat of Saturday, not to have to drive all the way home with cold, wet jeans, so he reaches for Pete's zipper.

It's a lot smoother than he thought it would be, the teeth of Pete's zipper parting and the top button popping off easily. And then he's reaching into Pete's boxer-briefs and wrapping his fingers around his cock. Skin to skin and Pete's so hard, filling his hand and Patrick's knuckles are dragging across Pete's tattoo. He's had wet dreams that were just like this but none of them could compare to the way Pete smells, the way he tastes when he shoves his tongue back into Patrick's mouth.

"Need to, _fuck, Patrick_," Pete groans, thrusting his hips into Patrick's touch, fucking his fist and for a few blissful seconds Patrick thinks he's going to come in his pants. But Pete pulls him close and turns him around, pushing Patrick back into his desk so hard he winces with it before Pete drops to his knees.

Patrick doesn't believe it, he knows Pete is on his knees, knows Pete is pulling down his zipper, can feel warm breath across his groin but none of that really sinks in until Pete's mouth is wrapped around him. Patrick bites his lip and tries to stop himself from thrusting forward but it's _Pete_ and _Pete's mouth_ and it's a completely lost battle.

Pete doesn't seem to mind: he's squeezing one of Patrick's hips and pushing him back into the desk hard enough that Patrick knows there is going to be an impressive bruise there later. He moans when Patrick's hips buck forward, eyes squeezing shut and Patrick can see his shoulder tensing and-

"Holy fuck are you jerking off?" and maybe Patrick didn't mean to say that out loud, but he _is_. Pete Wentz is moaning around his cock and jerking himself off like this is the best porn ever. Patrick can handle being pushed around and kissed and then sucked off but as soon as he thinks about Pete touching himself, fingers wrapped around his cock and stroking in time to the rhythm of his mouth, it's too much. He squeezes his eyes shut and comes, groaning Pete's name.

There's nothing then but the sound of the two of them breathing. Patrick waits for his heart to slow back down to a reasonable thump, one hand resting on top of Pete's head, fingers tangled in his hair. Pete hasn't moved. His forehead is pressed to Patrick's hip, breath harsh and ragged, like he's just run a mile.

"Pete," Patrick says, voice soft and his hand softer against the side of Pete's face, but Pete isn't having any of it.

"You get it now, right?" Pete asks, voice fucked, and Patrick has to admit it's not a bad point. They're in Pete's classroom; Patrick's desk is maybe 12 feet away and the door isn't even locked. Anyone could have come in, anyone can still walk in. It's stupid, so, so stupid. "I… I think it might be best if we didn't see each other anymore."

There's something wet against his hip, falling onto his jeans, and he knows it's Pete crying. He doesn't want to mention it because he knows Pete is serious about them not seeing each other and this might be his last chance to just listen to Pete breathe, feel the heat of Pete's skin against his own.

Then Pete's pushing away from him, standing and wiping a hand over his eyes like Patrick doesn't know there are tear tracks running down his face. His eyes are red-rimmed and Patrick just _knows_ Pete's not done thinking about this, not done beating himself up over it.

"I should report this," Pete says in that same fucked-raw voice and Patrick just shakes his head.

"I _should_, I'm taking advantage of you and I'm about to ask you to quit a club you love because I don't trust myself not to beg you to let me blow you if I have to see you that often."

"I only joined because of you," Patrick admits and at Pete's disbelieving look he shrugs. "I mean it, Government Club, the registration drive, it was all about having something to talk about with you. You completely fell for my cunning plan to make you like me."

"You spent over 40 hours doing community service this semester so I'd like you? I hate to break it to you, but wherever you get dating advice from, you should consider looking elsewhere." And Pete sounds better now at least, even if they both know he isn't.

"Are you telling me Cosmo's _How to land that inappropriate office romance without him thinking you're easy_ is unsound relationship advice? Color me shocked." Patrick grins at Pete then and it makes him feel better about this.

"So I guess… I won't see you around?" Pete asks and Patrick steps forward, invading the space Pete's been putting between them to hug him. Pete hugs him back, squeezing tight and burying his face against Patrick's neck and Patrick tries to memorize the way this feels, being so close to Pete, being held by Pete. He misses it already.

***

On Monday he hangs back after English with Joe, listens to him talk about the show he went to this weekend and the new girl he's dating (they all sucked even worse than Patrick's band and her name is Marie and she's so superior to the likes of Stacy there is no way to compare them). He walks to class like a normal person, waving hello to some people he knows and grabbing a soda from the machines near Pete's room.

He sits in his seat and spends the period taking notes and writing music, like he does in every other class. He knows he's still watching Pete more than he should, but he can't help it. There's something tight in Pete's jaw, tension so obvious he might as well have one of those cartoon throbbing veins drawn on his temple. Pete looks at him exactly once before shifting his attention to someone else.

He tells his band some bullshit lie about wanting to spend more time with school and not being able to handle all of his commitments and they all grin and punch his arm and tell him to quit being such a fucking liar. They take him to dinner at IHOP and Patrick learns that apparently there was a pool on how long it was going to take Patrick to kick them to the curb and Anthony, their bassist (who is worse than Pete, so, so much worse, _GOD_ how was he in a band with someone worse than Pete? He's cringing now) won it all.

"We never thought you'd stick it out with us this long, Patrick, you have like, talent." And Patrick kind of wishes he'd been nicer about how much his band sucked because clearly he'd made this opinion clear to the rest of them and they're nice enough not to hold it against him.

***

Joe takes Patrick out for his birthday, confirming Patrick's suspicion that they're more than just acquaintances now. They go to a show and the bands are all surprisingly decent. What's even more decent is the fact that all of Joe's friends without big black X's on their hands are more than willing to keep buying drinks for the birthday boy. Patrick loses count somewhere along the way and when Joe takes his keys, he doesn't think to argue.

Joe's driving him home and it's really, really fucking late but it's a Saturday and his birthday and his mom told him to have a good time so he's not that worried about going home.

"Oh shit! Patrick, we almost forgot!" Joe executes a James Bond style U-Turn and Patrick is still sober enough to be grateful for how drunk he is because normally he'd have a death grip on his seatbelt and he'd be flipping his shit. They end up in a liquor store parking lot, Joe grinning hugely at the flickering _OPEN 24 Hours_ in the front window.

"Huh?" Patrick asks, blinking up at the store blearily and ignoring the way his heart jumps into his throat at the sight of ugly fluorescent lighting reflecting off the dashboard. Once does not a Pavlovian response make and maybe someday soon Patrick will write sad, sappy love songs about dashboard reflections and the taste of cheap coffee but for now, Joe probably doesn't want to hear it.

"You're eighteen, man, and you haven't bought any porn or lottery tickets!" It makes a perverse kind of sense and Joe's actually sober so Patrick climbs out of the car and trudges behind Joe into the store. Joe leads him straight to the racks of magazines, holding him up in front of the bins with black paper obscuring the covers before shuffling off.

Patrick picks up one at random, giving a silent cheer when leaning forward doesn't cause him to topple over. He wanders over to the checkout counter and peers through the plexiglass at the lotto tickets. He points to the ones he wants, not entirely certain he could manage the word "scratcher" in his current state, and puts his skin mag on the counter.

He pays without getting carded (which was the entire point) and he's pouting by the counter when Joe shows back up in his line of vision. He has a hot cup of coffee and a giant bottle of water and Patrick knows he should thank him but all he wants to do is cry.

He climbs back into the car and clutches the hot cup in his hands. It even smells the same, cheap and heavy and full of caffeine. The only thing that's missing is Pete. They scratch his tickets and to no one's great surprise, Patrick isn't a winner.

***

"Morning, sunshine!" Joe calls him at what feels like ridiculously early on Sunday afternoon considering he knows exactly how drunk Patrick was. Patrick curses into his phone, fumbling for his glasses and managing to knock over the giant water bottle Joe bought him, a lamp and his alarm clock in the process. Joe just fucking laughs, because he is a traitor and Patrick was wrong, wrong, _wrong_ about them being friends of any sort.

"What the fuck are you doing calling me at-" He rolls over to look at his alarm clock on the floor. "Holy shit, it's 3?" Joe laughs again and Patrick desperately wishes to reach through the phone to choke him. "It's still too early, fucker."

"I was just wondering if there was something you wanted to tell me," and Joe's voice is too amused for his own good.

"Huh?" Patrick never claimed to be at his most brilliant just after waking up with a hangover.

"Your reading material from last night?"

Patrick feels around on his bed until he feels the glossy pages of his skin mag. When he picks it up and sets it in his lap, there's a naked guy staring back at him. "Oh… huh."

Joe should _not_ be laughing at that, it's not funny. "Are you telling me you bought gay porn on accident?" and no matter how hungover Patrick is, he would recognize Joe making fun of him.

"You're not my friend anymore," he says, flipping open the magazine and most assuredly not looking for any spreads that look like Pete. "I'm officially demoting you back to 'that guy who sits next to me in English' for the rest of forever." He finds one near the middle, some thin twentysomething with dark hair and dark eyes that smolder intensely up at him from the page.

His tattoos are all wrong though and the bronze color of his skin is the obvious result of tanning and Patrick's throat tickles just a bit suddenly. He knows that's a sign that he should close the magazine and never look at it again, porn isn't supposed to make him this unhappy but he can't help it. He jerks off almost every night to thoughts of Pete's mouth and Pete's smile and the way he laughed with his entire face.

"You were so drunk," Joe needlessly tells him, clearly ignoring the fact that Patrick isn't going to be his friend anymore. When he's not hungover and in a mood for murder any longer, Patrick will appreciate that.

"Yeah, I can figure that much out for myself, Trohman." God, he needs to brush his teeth.

"You actually asked me to join your shitty band. I almost died laughing," and that's not funny, because Patrick means that, entirely.

"I'm not in the shitty band anymore, I don't have any band. I'm… I do actually want to be in a band, we should be that kind of friends, the type that are in bands together." It's not smooth or even all that inviting considering he's just spent the last five minutes bitching at him, but either Joe's going to say yes or he'll say no, it won't matter how much Patrick's just bitched him out.

"Does this mean we're frieeeeeeeeeeeends again, Patrick?" Joe's voice is high and nasally but that's definitely a yes, no doubt in Patrick's mind. "I don't know what I'd do if Patrick Stump wasn't friends with me anymore."

"You are still an asshole, but yes, if you will be in a band with me, I will ignore that and be your friend forever, we'll have slumber parties even," and Patrick's smiling now because he has Joe fucking Trohman in his band.

"You're such a sweet talker, who could turn down slumber parties? So who else is in our band?" And the fact that their band consists of him and Joe is maybe something he should have said before. But it's too late, Joe said yes and Patrick considers that very, very binding.

"It's pretty much just you and me right now," he tells him and he can almost hear Joe's answering grin through the phone line.

"Awesome, I always wanted to be the talent in a band," he says.

"Oh fuck you!" Patrick answers, rolling out of bed. He pulls on jeans and heads for the bathroom, insulting Joe the whole time.

Patrick rides the high of Joe being in a band with him for what's left of the afternoon. Just before dinner he thinks _I'll have to tell Pete on Monday, he'll be so-_ before cutting himself off. He focuses on breathing for a second, refusing to cry over this, especially just before dinner.

***

Patrick does not want to go to prom. He has never had any plans to ever go to his prom. When he's a big celebrity, he has plans to do a music video about how much prom sucks, maybe he'll even write a song.

Despite all of this, Joe talks him into going anyway. There are other people there that he knows, people he's seen around and people he's friendly with. He even dances with some of the girls, albeit awkwardly because Patrick always feels like everyone is watching him when he's on the dance floor.

Point is, he's hardly a wallflower and it's not like he's all by himself crying in a corner. It still sucks, it's lame and expensive and why the hell anyone would think a nice hotel and some fancy clothes would cover up the fact that it's still the same assholes they go to school with everyday

Then he looks across the room at just the wrong time and catches sight of Pete. He's wearing a dark suit and it's nice, looks good on him. If he's honest with himself, Pete looks fantastic and something about the way his suit is cut shows off his body and makes Patrick _want_ with such sudden intensity he has to sit down for a second. Then Pete throws his head back to laugh at something one of the other chaperones said and Patrick gives up on breathing at all because Pete looks like such a fucking dork when he laughs like that and he's drawn a bartskull on his lame chaperone nametag.

He's so beautiful and so _Pete_ and Patrick needs to be somewhere that's else or he's going to make a scene. He gets up and heads for the exit, breathing only once he's outside. It's a blissfully cool night, damp in a way that makes Patrick think he should stay inside, but even the fear of what rain will mean to his tux security deposit isn't enough to keep him in there.

He leans against the wall and focuses on moving air in and out of his lungs for a few seconds, waiting for his heart to slow. It's not that he recognizes the sound of Pete's footsteps following him - he never bothered to listen to the way Pete walked, he's in love, not a stalker - but there's really no one else who would know to check on him right now.

"Hey," Pete says, voice soft, and Patrick wants Pete to look at him like this forever. He wants to always have Pete watch him like he's the most important thing in the room, the world, and nothing could ever change that. It's not new, Pete's been watching him like this for months, but he didn't get it, didn't understand that until now.

"Hi," he manages back, which is an amazing feat considering all he wants to do is beg Pete to kiss him. "You look-" hot, gorgeous, fuckable, "really nice." Pete just nods and bites his lip, looking away and Patrick can't help himself. "So I'm trying, I'm trying really hard but I can't seem to stop being in love with you." Pete makes a kind of choking noise but Patrick isn't going to let that interrupt him. "And I was just wondering if, maybe, maybe you'd be okay if I just waited? I mean… I won't be in high school forever, you won't be my teacher forever."

He leans closer to Pete, takes Pete's hand in his own. "We can just be on hold until college, I mean… I know you want me, I _know_ that."

Pete looks down at their joint hands and laughs and it's not a very pretty sound. "That was the plan, you know? Just, get through the year and keep in touch and not do anything until you were in college." His face twists in an ugly, unpleasant smile. "Who the fuck thinks that, Patrick? What kind of person sits down and makes a deal with themselves to wait until their student is available for that? I mean, I'd beat the hell out of anyone else who planned to do that to you because it's wrong and it's still taking advantage."

Patrick turns to him, leaning forward and kissing him on the mouth. It's dry and slow, nothing like any of the other kisses they've shared but it might be Patrick's favorite. "I'm graduating soon and you won't be my teacher but you'll still be my best friend. I know I'm yours and no matter what you might think, there's nothing wrong with this."

"Patrick." Pete's voice is tired, his forehead pressed to Patrick's and his breath ghosting over Patrick's face with each word. "No one tells you in teacher school that you aren't supposed to fall in love with your student, they don't say you can't let them become your best friend, that you can't let them know you completely. No one has to say it because people know you're not supposed to, people who aren't me at least."

"It's not-" Patrick begins, only to be interrupted by the door opening and Mrs. Christianson, who teaches second and third year French, steps out. They're still pressed close together; Pete's mouth is still only centimeters from his. There's no way to interpret the way he and Pete are standing as anything other than what it is.

Her eyes are wide and she shakes her head like she doesn't believe what she's seeing. "Mr. Wentz?" she says, like she's expecting to hear some kind of explanation, like there could be an explanation besides the Government teacher feeling up a student at the prom.

They just watch her, Patrick swallowing stupidly and trying to think of something, anything that won't make this worse for Pete. "Mr. Wentz, I'm going back inside to find an administrator, it will be best if you come with me," Mrs. Christianson says, and her voice is flat, face angry. Patrick wants to tell her she's wrong, that whatever she thinks is going on, it's not. But knows better though.

Pete moves to go with her, stepping away from Patrick, and Patrick reaches out for him, gripping tightly to his hip for just a second before letting go. He wants to tell him it will be okay but it won't, it really can't be okay. Pete follows her inside, head down and not looking back at Patrick even once.

Patrick leans back against the wall and tries to keep himself from shaking. He stays until there's a low rumble in the sky and just like that it's raining on prom night. Patrick laughs bitterly to keep from crying and heads for the parking lot and his car.

***

He waits all day on Sunday for someone to call, for the phone to ring and his mother to call him downstairs with tears in her eyes. He prepares what he'll say, how he'll say it. The call doesn't come and he gets ready for school on Monday with his stomach in knots.

There are people staring at him from the second he steps out of his car. Four years of high school spent mostly in anonymity and suddenly he's the juicy gossip. Conversations stop the second he sets foot in the classroom and no one will so much as look him in the eye, not even his teachers. Patrick just pulls his hat down lower and walks by like he doesn't notice.

He can hear Stacey from all the way down the hall. She's explaining how Patrick snubbing the fact that Pete was in a band is proof that he and Patrick were fucking from day one. What's worse is that he can actually hear people agreeing with this bullshit and he's ready to turn around and drive right back home when a voice cuts through all the agreement.

"Because it's not like Pete Wentz is kind of a shitty bass player right?" and that's Joe, Joe being the voice of reason because if there is one person who knows from shitty bass playing it's Joe Trohman. Patrick takes a deep breath and pushes the door open, pretends he doesn't notice the sudden silence and walks to his desk in the back row.

"So hey," Joe says once Patrick's seated, book open and eyes firmly set on the desk in front of him. "Our band needs a bassist, right? You think your boyfriend would be up for it? I hear he's not doing much these days."

Joe grins while he says it and Patrick laughs, he can't help it, he actually laughs. It feels good, like he's spent the entire day underwater and it's only now that's he's breathing again that he notices there was something wrong. He grins back at Joe, making eye contact with someone for the first time all day.

Joe sticks near him after that. They skip 4th period so Patrick doesn't have to face the substitute for Government sitting at Pete's desk and teaching Pete's class. Instead they hang out in Joe's car and Patrick watches Joe smoke up. He offers some to Patrick but Patrick just shakes his head. The principal will want to talk to him sometime today; without fail he's going to be called to the office and the last thing he needs is to be high when it happens.

"No matter what you hear," he tells Joe, watching him through the curls of smoke between them, "none of it is true. I know what they're going to make it look like, but it's not like that."

"You mentioned it before," and Joe isn't looking at him, he's concentrating on the end of his joint and frowning. "On your birthday, you were talking about being in love. It wasn't incriminating, you never said Pete's name, but somehow I wasn't surprised. I heard about you and Pete this morning and it wasn't the shock it seems to be for everyone else."

Patrick has to swallow twice before he can speak, and even then his voice is too small. "What did I say?"

Joe exhales and smiles, a dreamy look on his face. "You said you were in love, that you loved them and they loved you and that you would make it work somehow. I figured you were just playing the pronoun game with me, it's why I asked about the skin mag. I guess I was wrong."

"Looks like you weren't the only one."

***

The school psychologist is with the principal when he's finally called into the office. He's seated at a conference table and both of them are looking at him with their most professionally concerned faces. The psychologist is gently explaining that sometimes young people do things because they want adults to approve of them, that they worry the adult won't like them if they don't go along with what they want. She tells him she understands how hard it must have been, saying no to one of his teachers, someone he's supposed to trust, someone who has so much control over him.

Patrick shouldn't be surprised at how much they really don't get it, but he is anyway. He bites the inside of his cheek to keep from laughing out loud and when it's his turn to talk, when they want him to explain his side, he denies all of it. "Nothing happened," he says, hoping Pete didn't screw this up with whatever he said to them. "I tried, I wanted to and I kissed him but he said no."

They don't look like they believe him but he's eighteen, an adult and when they bring in a typed transcript of his statement (page after page of Patrick denying anything untoward had happened) he can sign it by himself, without his parents witnessing.

His mom picks him up; he points uselessly at the far parking lot where his car is parked, but she just shakes her head, mouth in a tight line so he follows her. They drive to an IHOP and while she's in the bathroom Patrick texts Joe to let him know where the hell he went. She catches him when she comes back.

"Are you texting him?" she asks, sliding into her seat.

"My friend Joe," he explains, hating how fragile she looks. "He's been looking out for me all day, just wanted to let him know I wasn't at school."

She softens at that, reaches out to rest her hand on Patrick's arm."I'm so sorry, Patrick," and she's looking down, face crumpling, tears just starting to leak out. "I didn't know, I thought I was giving you your space. I didn't think-"

"Mom." He squeezes her hand and waits until she'll look at him. "Nothing bad happened. I know you think that something bad happened to me and you maybe blame yourself for that but what happened between me and Pete wasn't bad." She looks like she's going to argue and Patrick just tightens his hold on her hand. "Pete's twenty-three and he knows he shouldn't have done anything with a student but he loves me, he's my best friend. I was going to ask him out once I got to college and I don't want you to hate him."

"Twenty-three?" And Patrick just grins.

"And I love him and he loves me. We're going to get married in Canada and adopt African orphans." She hits him on the head with her menu, laughing and it's easier, the tension in the air reduced by at least half.

"I want you to go to counseling." Patrick wants to tell her no because there's nothing he needs to be counseled about, but she cuts him off. "For me, go to counseling for my own peace of mind. You're an adult and I can't make you, but I'll feel better about all of this if you do."

"Okay. I want you to be okay with this, Mom, I'll do it if it makes it easier for you."

In the middle of their pancakes, Joe texts to tell him that Pete's fired but the police weren't on campus. His mom drops him off back at school so he can get his car and Joe's sitting on the trunk. Somehow he's gotten hold of the whole story.

***

Turns out Pete had called his parents on Saturday night while he was waiting for Mrs. Christianson to find an administrator. He'd told them that he had fucked up and that it would maybe be on the news, and his parents had done the smart thing and told him not to say a word until they got a lawyer down to him. So Pete hadn't said anything about any of it, and between that and Patrick's denial… Pete was still fired but there wasn't anything official happening.

"How do you know these things?" Patrick asked Joe once Joe had finished.

"How do you think I got my hair this big? It's full of secrets.1" They laugh together, sitting on the trunk of Patrick's car and keeping an eye on the time so they're not still here when school ends. "Besides," Joe grins, "I'm not the type of guy to leave my friend in a lurch to go eat pancakes with my mom just because my life is kind of falling apart."

They laugh again and Joe checks his watch before hopping down. "You should get out of here, go see him. We really do need a bassist for our band."

"But he's so _bad_," Patrick shoots back, hopping down too.

Joe shrugs. "Maybe he'll get better. You should go see him anyway."

And Patrick's smart enough to know that one way or another, Joe's going to make sure he and Pete talk, so he nods. "I can take a hint. I'll see you later, okay?"

And Joe must hear how nervous he is in his voice, because he steps up and wraps Patrick in a hug. Patrick hugs back a little too tightly but Joe just gives a manly grunt and pats his back a few times. He feels surprisingly better.

***

Patrick has never thought that Pete's apartment complex suits him very well. He's only been there once, when Pete forgot some Very Important Paperwork (capital letters obvious from the way Pete said it) for Government Club back at his place and they had to drive over in the van on their way out.

It's a nice place, clean and neat and the whole place always looks like it's recently seen a few coats of beige and taupe and whatever other neutral colors the buildings are covered in. It's respectable and bland in a way that would be perfect for most people on a first-year teaching salary but doesn't mix well with Pete. Pete isn't bland and the way he'd jumped out of the van and run up the steps, laughing the entire time, the one and only time they'd had to come here was completely at odds with the overall beigeness of the place.

It's even worse now because apparently if raucous laughter and jumping were out of step, showing up with (metaphorical) hat in hand to ask his ex-teacher to join his band and maybe go on a date with him is alien. He feels like every door he passes is mocking him, judging him for still thinking his juvenile thoughts about happily-ever-after when Pete's lost his job, when Pete's being labeled as some kind of deviant or something. It's possible he's projecting, but only a little.

He knocks twice and pulls his hat a little lower on his head. Pete answers in old sweats and a ratty t-shirt with holes at the neck and shoulders. His eyes are red-rimmed and his whole face looks tired. He's so fucking gorgeous Patrick can't breathe for a second.

"Fuck, I don't have enough patience for this," Pete says as soon as he sees it's Patrick, and just that quickly he's just Pete again. Annoying, bitchy, pain-in-the-ass Pete who Patrick happens to be ridiculously in love with.

Patrick wants to scowl at that, say something bitchy and maybe get into an epic fight right here in Pete's doorway, but he figures one of them has to be an adult and since Pete's already chosen not to it falls to him. He settles for rolling his eyes and shoving his foot in the doorway so Pete can't close the door on him. "Tough, because I'm here. Now let me in."

Pete shrugs and steps back, not so much inviting Patrick in as not stopping him from entering. Knowing Pete, it likely means something very important.

There are boxes in Pete's living room and also in the hall and for a second Patrick wonders if Pete still hasn't unpacked from moving to Glenview but no, really not because the nearest open box has a hoodie in it that Patrick has seen before.

"You're _leaving_?" And if he shouts a little it's only because of all the stupid shit he expected Pete to do, this wasn't anywhere near the top of the list.

"Moving back in with my parents." Pete shrugs while he says it, like it's no big deal. "It's not forever, just until I figure out what the hell I'm going to do with my life."

"But… why do you have to leave? You can figure that out here, you don't have to-"

"Patrick, what part of 'I don't have a _job_' isn't clear to you? Because I know you understand capitalism I have the papers you've written to prove it."

"I just thought," and Patrick feels like an asshole for how shy he suddenly is, like the hard part isn't behind them. "I just thought you'd stay, for me if nothing else."

Pete reaches out, takes Patrick's hand, and he doesn't have to see the sadness in Pete's eyes to know Pete's planning to break his heart. It's there in the way he's holding his hand, the faint trembling in his too-tight grip. "Patrick, I can't-"

"You fucking love me," Patrick interrupts, because if he doesn't Pete will say something horrible and stupid and Patrick has no patience for Pete being stupid when they have a happy ending so close at hand. "You love me and I'm your best friend and you never did anything wrong, dickface."

Pete tries to pull away at that but Patrick holds on tight, not letting him move an inch. "You never did anything wrong because I love you too, even if you are an asshole and we're both in love and someday soon no one will ever care who graded that paper I did on Democratic Peace Theory. Fuck, Pete, I even told my mom we'd be moving to Canada and adopting Cambodian babies together. We can't let her down, Pete, she's expecting us to give her grandbabies."

Pete's going to cry; no one's lip can quiver that much without crying. From his facial expression it just looks like he's trying to figure out whether it should be happy crying or sad crying. Patrick doesn't want him to cry at all so instead he leans forward and cups the back of Pete's neck, tipping his face up for a kiss.

It's more desperate than any of their kisses have ever been, even counting the furtive press of their mouths that one time in Pete's car. Pete clings to him, hands on his shoulders and his breath warm and wet against Patrick's because they can't pull away from each other long enough to draw an actual breath.

"Pete, Pete, I just-" Pete cuts him off with another kiss, hard and bruising and Patrick moans, it feels so good.

"You want that. You want all of that with me. With _me_," and they sound like they should be questions but Pete sounds so certain, so awed and all Patrick can do is pull him closer and nod, one hand gripping tightly to his hip and trying not to fall over.

Pete walks him backwards to his couch and pushes him down, following when Patrick doesn't let go. They land in a tangle of arms and legs and Pete on top of him like this is familiar and not. The weight is familiar; so is the press of Pete's hips against his, how hard Pete is against him. But every single one of Pete's kisses has a promise that they didn't before. This isn't the only time, this isn't a stolen moment and there is nothing even remotely shameful about this.

Pete is fumbling with Patrick's jeans, pulling open the buttons and zipper and pulling them down around his thighs. Patrick sucks hard at Pete's throat, moaning his appreciation when Pete's fingers wrap around his cock. He pulls on the drawstring to Pete's sweats and Pete shimmies his hips, helping him peel them off.

Pete kisses him then, leans in and licks his way into Patrick's mouth and Patrick arches up against him, cock rubbing against Pete's hip; Pete does the same. "Next time, oh fuck, Patrick," Pete moans, more breath than voice, his cock riding against Patrick's thigh until they're fucking covered with precome and that shouldn't be so hot but it is and Patrick has to focus on not coming every time he thinks about it.

"Next time I want you to fuck me," Pete tries again, biting at Patrick's mouth. "I want to feel you inside me, on top of me, want it, want-" Patrick doesn't hear the rest; his brain misfires after Pete tells him he wants Patrick to fuck him and just that quickly Patrick is coming all over both of them.

"- that's so hot, fuck, Patrick, that is so fucking hot -" Pete's still talking, hips still moving against him, so Patrick reaches down and wraps his hand around Pete's cock, planning to jack him off so maybe he'll shut up, but as soon as Patrick touches him Pete's biting his lip and shuddering.

Patrick's never actually felt Pete come, not like this. It's messy and it's cooling off really quickly and if Patrick didn't feel like he'd dropped his spine somewhere he'd want to get up and get something to wipe off with. Instead he lies underneath Pete and tries to catch his breath. The best part is that this isn't it, he and Pete can do this again and again. He _can_ fuck Pete next time and Pete can fuck him and no one is going to stop them.

***

"So I was thinking," Patrick says, once they're showered and laying together in Pete's bed. He's laying on his side, half on top of Pete with his cheek on Pete's chest and tracing his bartskull tattoo with one finger. Sex is apparently the only thing that makes Pete quiet so Pete just makes an interested noise in the back of his throat and brings his hand down to link with Patrick's over his stomach.

"Umm, right." He's blushing. Less than twenty minutes ago he was covered in Pete's come, and holding hands is what makes him blush. Pete gives a low laugh at that, like he can feel the heat in Patrick's face. "Anyway, I'm sort of starting up a band and we kind of need a bass player. My friend Joe thinks we should ask you."

"Oh really?" Pete asks and Patrick can feel him grinning. "I don't know, it's recently come to my attention that I'm not very good at playing bass."

Patrick buries his smile against Pete's chest. "You can get better, right? I mean, there's this thing called practice and if you do it, you stop being so god-awful and people don't have to be embarrassed by your playing anymore."

"I guess I could try that. Even if it's a hell of a sacrifice; I know someone who's really fucking hot when he's embarrassed." Patrick feels the heat spread to the tips of his ears and Pete laughs again. "So what does Joe play?"

"Guitar, he's awesome," Patrick says, happy to have a neutral, not-him thing to be talking about.

"So we have a bass, a guitar and a singer?" It's not really a question and Patrick just shrugs because he doesn't feel like arguing. "That's perfect, I know someone who plays drums like a madman, you'll love him."

1 This is hobviously from Mean Girls, credit where credit is due!


End file.
